Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes,
In grains as countless as the sea-side sands,
The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth."
Bk. VI., 240-246.

His fondness for retirement:

"Since then, with few associates, in remote
And silent woods I wander, far from those
My former partners of the peopled scene;
With few associates, and not wishing more.
Here much I ruminate, as much I may,
With other views of men and manners now
Than once, and others of a life to come," &c.

Bk. III., 117–133.

His love for his country:

"England, with all thy faults I love thee still-
My country! and, while yet a nook is left,
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime
Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost,
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And fields without a flower, for warmer France
With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers."

His humane and generous feelings:

"I was born of woman, and drew milk
As sweet as charity from human breasts.
I think, articulate, I laugh and weep,

And exercise all functions of a man.

How then should I and any man that lives
Be strangers to each other?" &c.

Bk. II.

Bk. III., 196-210.

His love of liberty:

"O Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream,
The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme;
Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's' nurse;
Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse;
Heroic song from thy free touch acquires
Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires:
Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air,
And I will sing, if Liberty be there;

And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet,

In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat."

""Tis liberty alone that gives the flower
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume;
And we are weeds without it."

Table Talk.

Task, Bk. V.

His depressive malady, and the source of its cure:

"I was a stricken deer, that left the herd
Long since; with many an arrow deep infix'd
My panting side was charged, when I withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There was I found by One, who had himself

Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore,

And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars.

With gentle force soliciting the darts,

He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live."

Bk. III.

The employment of his time, and design of his life and writ

ings:

"Me, therefore, studious of laborious ease,

Not slothful, happy to deceive the time,
Not waste it, and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When He shall call his debtors to account,

From whom are all our blessings, business finds
E'en here; while sedulous I seek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd,
The mind He gave me; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulged in vain,
To its just point-the service of mankind.”

Bk. III., 361–372.

Here perhaps will be the most convenient and fitting place to insert a few observations from the pen of Lord Jeffrey, as more fully illustrating the personal character of the poet.

The personal character of Cowper is easily estimated from the writings he has left, and the anecdotes contained in this publication (Hayley's Life of Cowper). He seems to have been chiefly remarkable for a certain feminine gentleness and delicacy of nature, that shrank back from all that was boisterous, presumptuous, or rude. His secluded life and awful impressions of religion, concurred in fixing upon his manners something of a saintly purity and decorum, and in cherishing that pensive and contemplative turn of mind by which he was so much distinguished. His temper appears to have been yielding and benevolent; and though sufficiently steady and confident in the opinions he had adopted, he was very little inclined, in general, to force them upon the conviction of others. The warmth of his religious zeal made an occasional exception; but the habitual temper of his mind was toleration and indulgence; and it would be difficult, perhaps, to name a satirical and popular author so entirely free from jealousy and fastidiousness, or so much disposed to make the most liberal and impartial estimate of the merit of others, in literature, in politics, and in the virtues and accomplishments of social life. No angry or uneasy passions,

indeed, seem at any time to have found a place in his bosom; and, being incapable of malevolence himself, he probably passed through life without having once excited that feeling in the breast of another.

Mr. Grimshawe's sketch will now be resumed; in which he proceeds to say that, the office of doing justice to the poetical genius of Cowper having been assigned to an individual so well qualified to execute it with taste and ability (the Rev. John Cunningham, whose dissertation follows this article), all that now seems necessary, is simply to illustrate the beauties of Cowper's poetry in the same manner as we have exhibited his personal character. We shall present a brief series of poetical portraits.

The following portrait of Lord Chatham is drawn with great force and spirit:

"In him Demosthenes was heard again;

And Freedom taught him her Athenian strain :
She clothed him with authority and awe,
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law.
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace,
And all his country beaming in his face,
He stood, as some inimitable hand

Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand.
No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose
Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ;
And every venal stickler for the yoke

Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke."

Table Talk.

Sir Joshua Reynolds:

"There touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes

A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees

All her reflected features."

Bacon the sculptor:

"Bacon there

Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.” *

The Martyrs of the Reformation:

"Their blood is shed

In confirmation of the noblest claim,
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth,
To walk with God, to be divinely free,
To soar, and to anticipate the skies.

Yet few remember them. They lived unknown
Till persecution dragg'd them into fame,

And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew
-No marble tells us whither. With their names
No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:
And history, so warm on meaner themes,
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed
The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire,
But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.”

Task, Bk. V.

Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress:

"O thou, whom, borne on Fancy's eager wing
Back to the season of life's happy spring,
I pleased remember, and, while mem'ry yet
Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget;
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail;

Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style,
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile;

* Alluding to the monument to Lord Chatham, in Westminster Abbey.